The Romance Line (Love and Hockey Book 2)

Max

“Did you enjoy the eggplant salad?” the server asks, and the question sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a well.

Is he even asking me?

I tear my gaze away from the water glass in my hand, condensation sliding down the outside of it. I look to the kind-faced server who’s standing by my side, clearing my plate, and yup—he is asking me.

I try to reconnect to the present moment. But it’s hard because my mind is stuck like a tire spinning in the mud. It’s not here at this dinner with the VP of Communications, the general manager, my agent, and my secret girlfriend. It’s not at this table in this trendy Moroccan restaurant in Hayes Valley that Zaire loves.

It’s back in Everly’s house an hour ago. And I can’t stop playing her words on an endless loop— but I’m not doing it tonight .

“The eggplant salad was great,” I say flatly, finally managing to muster a response.

“Wonderful. Would you like any more water?”

I don’t want water. I don’t want an eggplant salad. I don’t want couscous. I want to understand what the hell is going on with my girlfriend, who seems far too fixated on the project rather than us . “No thanks,” I mumble, then stew some more as he moves down the table.

Fine, her comment about not doing it tonight technically makes logical sense, but tomorrow is a game day. Which means I have morning skate, then the fucking game itself, then thirty minutes later we get on the bus to the airport.

Plus, she said she had an early Zoom meeting, and I have The Sports Network thingy when I’d normally nap. When did she think we were going to talk about us? She’s not going on our road trip. I can’t imagine she’ll want to talk about it on the phone when I’m on the East Coast.

Is she…putting this off? My jaw ticks as my mind runs wildly into these woods, all while grabbing the branch of this terrible possibility—what if she’s putting me off?

“Max, are you excited?”

I look up from the water glass that I’m practically crushing in my hand. My agent’s sitting next to me, asking a question. “About what?” I ask.

Garrett gives a smile that feels like a correction, like a pay attention, buddy grin. “The documentary episode is a go,” he says. “The producers gave the green light. We’ve been talking about it for the last few minutes.”

“That’s great,” I say flatly, clenching my fist in annoyance under the table, or maybe it’s worry. Looks like Everly thinks this documentary news is great too. From across the table, she’s smiling brightly even as she shoots me a curious look. “Isn’t that fantastic, Max?”

She might as well kick me under the table. But is that coming from the girlfriend side of her? Or the publicist one?

“We are truly so happy,” Clementine says from the head of the table, looking regal with her cinched back hair and strong profile. “It all really came together.” Her pleased gaze turns to Everly. “All that one-on-one time paid off.”

Everly smiles. “I’ve never had to do so much one-on-one work with a player before, but clearly it’s worth it. I was hoping this project would show you what I’m capable of.”

What the fuck? I snap my gaze toward her, narrowing my eyes. What the hell does that mean? I try to ask it silently through, I dunno, mind waves.

But Everly furrows her brow my way, like she’s asking right back what’s wrong with you?

I’ll gladly tell her. What’s wrong is that the woman I love thinks I’m just a project. That’s what’s wrong.

But I clamp my teeth together instead of talking.

Like a puppet master, Garrett claps my shoulder. “Max isn’t the easiest to work with. But he’s worth it. So worth it,” he says, all smiley and shit.

“Thanks,” I say dryly. “Appreciate the vote of confidence.”

He squeezes harder. “C’mon, man. You aren’t, but you two pulled this off. Well done.”

“Yes, you two really pulled off a banger,” Clementine says.

Pulled off . Those two words echo ceaselessly in my head. We pulled it off. Like it was a heist? Maybe a con? And now we’re celebrating with the crew. Like we stole the diamonds and we’ve got them all in our pockets and now we’re getting away with it—the remake of Lambert.

The project.

Everly shoots me another one of those cautionary looks. Probably because I’m just a project to her. Probably because she doesn’t want me to ruin her project. Probably because she wants to make sure we can indeed pull off this whole thing.

I drag a hand down my beard as I slump back in my chair, like a fool. How did I miss this?

The same way you missed all the signs that Lyra was involved with someone else. Signs that were right in front of you. Signs you barely paid attention to while you were falling for her.

Because I wanted to believe in Lyra. I wanted to believe in an us .

Garrett jumps in again, taking over the conversation like it needs saving. “And it looks like you’re well positioned for the promotion,” he says to Everly, then shoots that perfect agent grin of his toward Zaire and Clementine. What the hell is going on? Is he in on it? Was this always about her getting a promotion?

Everly demurs, holding up her hands. “That’s not what tonight is about,” she says, but it sounds too humble. Too much of a deflection.

Zaire lifts a champagne glass Everly’s way. “I certainly don’t want to offer any promotions over dinner, but I will say we’re pleased with your work,” she says, mostly diplomatic even as she leaves a big, tasty hint.

Everly dips her face, as if she’s trying to hide her smile. Yup, that’s what my girlfriend wants. The promotion. My muscles tense. My heart shrivels .

“And now you can finally move on to other things,” Garrett puts in. “Other projects. Other opportunities. Like, I don’t know, maybe Date Night.”

It’s said oh so casually, like he clearly knows he shouldn’t push, but like he also wants an answer badly.

Zaire offers me a hopeful grin. “I spoke with Webflix today. It looks like it could be a great partnership all around.” She pauses. “If it works out with Date Night. And I know that’s an if .”

“No pressure,” Clementine adds, and they’re all so diplomatic. I should appreciate it. Truly, I should.

But I feel like I’ve stepped into quicksand in the middle of a murky night, so I shift my gaze to Everly, adopting a perfectly curious look. “Is there anything that would hold me back?”

Her eyes widen, and she swallows roughly. “I think it’s entirely your decision,” she says.

Ironic. The other night she didn’t want me to do it, but now it’s my choice.

Because she’ll be moving on.

Because what if that’s all I ever was to her? Work. Just work. The times we spent together never felt like work to me. I never felt like I was doing anything but falling head first into a big, spectacular, move-mountains kind of love. But the last time I fell for someone, my happy, easy, nice-guy life crashed head first and I was left to pick up the wreckage.

I know Everly isn’t cheating. I truly know that, but my nerves are strung tight. My heart hurts. And my hackles are up. I don’t know how to trust a damn thing anymore.

Except… me .

I’m the only one I can trust, and at some point I have to trust actions, rather than feelings. Deeds rather than words.

Fact is, Everly’s been putting this off time and time again.

She said let’s get through this makeover and we’ll figure it out . She said let’s not do anything tonight . She said a partnership with Date Night could ruin all the work we’ve done.

What if I leave tomorrow and she gets that promotion, and then I return and she dumps me on my ass?

“So, we really should get things going with Date Night,” Clementine adds. “Perhaps tomorrow?”

She looks to me hopefully, and I steal a look at Everly. Her face is unreadable now. Her eyes give nothing away. They’re just…hard.

But I’m good at memorizing. And I remember all too clearly something she said last week. “Max, let’s get through the next event, but once we do, I could try to talk to my boss.”

Could. She only said she could try . I am such a fool. I push back in the chair. “Excuse me,” I say, then I step away from the table, but instead of heading to the restroom, I beeline to the front door, a man on a mission. Once outside, I draw a huge breath.

This is how I feel when an opponent slams into me. When the wind’s knocked out. When the world has turned upside down.

A minute later, Garrett’s pushing open the door, joining me in the cool late November night. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just needed some air.”

“You okay?”

“Yes,” I say.

“You don’t need to make this decision tonight,” he says. “Actually, maybe don’t make it tonight. ”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m fine,” I snap.

Garrett holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay.”

“Are you trying to help Everly get a promotion?” I ask like it’s a crime.

He tilts his head, studying me quizzically. “It’d be nice if she got one. She works hard. She’s good at her job. Maybe fix your shit and act the same way,” he says, for once not playing the smooth, cool agent role, but instead the kick-a-client-in-the-pants one.

He stares me down, hands on hips. Waiting. He’s not leaving me out here alone because he doesn’t trust me. And really, maybe I don’t deserve trust with the way my brain has turned black and dark. I heave a sigh then say, “Fine. Let’s go back inside.”

He sets a hand on my shoulder. “Shake this mood, man. It’s not good.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to ruin anyone’s project.”

Then I shrug him off and go back inside, slapping on a false smile for the rest of the meal.